


The Second Coming of Matthew Murdock

by oceanhearted



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Families of Choice, Gen, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Moving On, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-04 20:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14600721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanhearted/pseuds/oceanhearted
Summary: Post-Defenders; defence attorney and Devil of Hell's Kitchen—Matthew Murdock returns to the living after having been assumed dead for an indefinite amount of time. His fellow Defenders, having taken his place during his absence, help him settle back into the living, while Matt learns to make amends with his companions and ultimately himself.





	The Second Coming of Matthew Murdock

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for The Defenders; vague allusions to events in The Punisher and Jessica Jones S2, but nothing explicit.
> 
> Fic transpires an indefinite amount of time after The Defenders (with mild allusions to events from The Punisher/JJS2)—consider it canon divergent/not canon to LCS2/IFS2/DDS3. This was written on and off for almost a year so apologies in advance if several parts come off as disjointed. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Matt woke up with all of his senses high-tuned. There were noises he didn't recognise clamouring in his home, and as far as he knew he didn't have anyone over the night before (not that there was anyone to  _have over_ ). There were—three sets of heartbeats ringing in his ears which, in tandem with the hammering against his chest, left him disorientated for a moment. When did they show up, and how had they let themselves in undetected? His nerves settled when he finally forced himself to calm down, however, and focused; they're familiar presences, recognisable rhythms he needn't raise caution over, which calmed him significantly—but that did nothing to quell the questions which surfaced in his head, moreso just adding on to them.

Throwing on an old shirt and making himself as presentable as a blind man could, he stepped out of his room unceremoniously, only to be greeted by—

 _"_ No fair!You cheated somehow."

"Nah, I didn't. Face it, you're just bad at this."

"I'm  _inexperienced._ We didn't have Mario Kart in K'un-Lun."

"Oh, shut up. The two of you sound like children."

—Luke and Danny's bickering (though it's more Luke's calm demeanour versus Danny slowly losing his) and Jessica paired with booze first thing in the morning, of course. There were video game noises (did the lot of them install an entire television and game system in his home while he was  _asleep?),_ likely what Luke and Danny were fussing over. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a few steps forward before his foot snagged onto thick fabric, and he almost fell face first onto the floor, his very indignant grunt alerting everyone of his presence, finally.

"Oh, morning, Matt," Danny greeted him cheerily, as if the scene presented in front of him was something out of the morning. A couple of "morning"s followed from the rest of them, and a "your taste in beer is shit" from the resident alcoholic. A couple of "swear jar"s follow, and after a warranted "fuck you" from Jessica she shoves a couple of dollars into a jar he didn't recall instigating onto his counter-top. The blind man pinched himself discreetly—no, he wasn't still asleep somehow—barely able to digest the (for lack of a better term)  _sight_ in front of him.

"Uh, morning," Matt returned. He picked up the pile of cloth he almost tripped over—not underwear, thankfully—and gave it a quick whiff; it was a hoodie emanating the soft, yet distinct scent of peppermint, a lingering trace of Danny's  _chi._ "Someone mind filling me in on what's going on here? Did I miss out on something? And when did I start having a swear jar in my house?"

"Claire suggested that you could use some company," Luke supplied, "after coming back to life and all. Oh, and the swear jar's all me."

Claire. Of course. She was one of, if not the first to find out that he wasn't actually dead (in case of the need for more  _vigilanting_ , of course). Needless to say the reception was not a welcome one ("You come back to life and come visit me first thing just in case you need to go get yourself killed again." "Something like that." "Goodbye."). Still, only she could come up with something of the sort for his sake. She was always looking out for everybody, even when it concerned things way beyond her capability, and he was grateful for it to an extent. Still, was— _this_ —necessary? As far as he knew he didn't have the habit of hosting bed-and-breakfasts for biker gangs on the regular, much less a ragtag group of vigilantes plaguing New York City. He could barely keep up with himself to begin with.

"Besides, you're still,  _integrating_ back into the living, so we figured that's something we could help you out with," Jessica added, her (alien) sincerity not without a hint of snark. Right, and there was the real reason for their company. Because  _integrating_ back into their lives went swimmingly with the three in the same room as him. Beyond that, to most people Matthew Murdock had died under vague circumstances; to others Daredevil was still buried under the remains of Midland Circle, having saved New York City from certain doom, alongside Elektra.

 _Elektra._ Gone in his arms again while he of all people was spared from death.  _At least had taken him this time around._ It was a dangerous line of thought, but one that he continued to entertain since he woke up from being dropped off at an estranged church within an inch of his life under mysterious circumstances—there was no use trying to deny it. He wouldn't deny, however, that the smallest part in him had hoped, continued to hope that she was still alive somehow, that she was the one who saved him and ended up reuniting him with his mother (which was a very long story for another time). That was the only explanation as to how he was alive, after all—none of the nuns he had met after being revived would tell him how he came to, that he should just be grateful that God granted him another chance at life. To which he couldn't question further, only hope.

Nonetheless, he had some reintroducing to do to the living. To Karen. To Foggy. Some other people that mattered to him in his small social circle, then back to the general public if possible. But primarily—and most importantly—to his ex-colleagues.

 

"You must've been pretty beat to not wake up with all the noise we were making. You die again or what?" Jessica snarked, and Danny shushed her angrily.

"Goodness, no." Though with the predicament he was facing he wouldn't have minded that (sorry, Danny). He must've been having a nightmare—of what he couldn't remember, though there were really only a few possibilities of the recurring kind to that. In other words, nothing new or particularly interesting to share.

"There's cereal on the counter if you're hungry. They're really good," Danny said. Matt shuffled over to the counter and identified the cereal in question as Froot Loops (he imagined Danny was having the time of his life discovering the various diabetes-and-various-other-health-problems-inducing food of America after being in K'un-Lun and eating probably nothing but variants of gruel for ages). "And there's a third controller by the television, come and let me beat you in Mario Kart like I'm beating Luke right now."

"No, I'm still beating you," Luke said matter-of-factly, and Danny grumbled in response. "And how exactly is the blind man going to play?"

"Come on. He's got super senses. He could probably beat us by— _listening_ to the game or something."

"Fair point."

"You two are idiots," Jessica called out.

 

Matt stifled the chuckle in his chest. He supposed he could make the effort to get used to this.

 

* * *

 

To solve that...  _mystery,_ Matt couldn't hold himself in a single round of Mario Kart to save his life (of course he couldn't. Danny is dumb, endearingly if not hair-pulling-frustration-ly so. At least he finally won a round of the game against someone else).

 

* * *

 

Matt couldn't go back to lawyering. Yet. As far as the residents of Hell's Kitchen and to an extent New York were concerned he was still dead, and he wasn't quite prepared to come back to life yet, not even as Daredevil. He wasn't quite sure what he would be. Though he owed it to Karen and Foggy, at the very least, to finally reveal his not-dead-ness to.

So he headed to church.

Father Lantom didn't outwardly question his renewed presence upon seeing him, thankfully. Matt took him up on his silent offer and headed into the confession box.

There was a part of him that wondered if Father was the one who led his send-off. Who else attended his funeral, and if any of them wept for his existence. If there was anyone Matt could ask about such matters it would be Father, but even then Matt figured it was too inappropriate to do so, as curious as anyone who came back to life would be about it.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned," he began. The man on the other side is silent, his heartbeat steady as ever. Matt could never read him, heightened senses and all. It always gave him a bit of anxiety, being far too used to figuratively seeing through everyone else. "It's been... too long since my last confession. Must be something new to come back from the dead just to ask for forgiveness."

He laughed despite himself. The man on the other side remained silent.

"I should be thanking everything that's watching me for this. For yet another chance at life. I've been given too many blessings and I take them far too much for granted. But I—I can't help but feel like it's a curse instead."

"How so?" The other side questioned in a soft tone. "For what it's worth there are plenty who are thankful for your return. I'd say it's a blessing on them, too." His  _and myself_ doesn't go unheard. He spoke almost not as a priest but rather a close acquaintance. 

"Thank you. But—there's no worth in it if I can't do what I'm supposed to. Elektra—I couldn't save her. As far as I know I've let her slip through my arms again. I've let her—" he stopped himself, or maybe his throat closed up involuntarily. He couldn't tell. "I had so many chances to stop her, to—to  _save_ her, but I didn't. I couldn't, again." He couldn't even bear to bring up Stick in the same conversation.

 _Stick._ He didn't even have the time to process his death, to grieve for him when it had happened. Now it crashed down on him all at once.  _Stick was gone._ The man who had raised him and trained him after his father died, his reluctant father figure after the incident. Despite what had eventually happened, the blind man had taught him to turn his disability into strength and so much more. He had resented him, but he also felt insurmountable gratitude towards him, which left him feeling conflicted. Gratitude he could now never pay back. And he hadn't been able to do a single thing to help him.

But Matt hadn't brought him up. He could barely hold himself together as is. He tried to regain his composure.

Father didn't know all of what he spoke, of course, but it was probably not very hard to come to an estimate. "It was out of your control."

"No it wasn't. I could've gotten through to her somehow, I know it. If I'd tried harder—if it'd been  _me_ instead of  _her—_ "

"Matthew."

Hearing his name called out so sternly made him stop. He hadn't realised how furiously he was trembling. "Sorry." He took in a shaking breath. "But I—I can't keep denying it. It's true. I'd give my life for her. I gave my life and I still lost her. That's—that's what I've done wrong, Father. It's where I've always gone wrong. I've forsaken her again." His voice trembled. He took a moment to steady himself. I—I'd give anything for her."

"You'd give your new friends for her, too?"

That brought Matt to a pause. He didn't like the answer which surfaced in his head in response.

"That's where you've gone wrong, Matthew," Father's voice was ripe with age and wisdom, but most importantly sincerity. "And the disregard you hold towards yourself and your own life. That's where you've always gone wrong."

Matt stayed silent, but his thoughts were turbulent. Father got up to leave, effectively ending their session, but paused for a moment. "If it's of any consolation, I'm thankful to the lord that you've returned. The man running around in your place just isn't the same." Matt managed a slight smile at that. "Join me for a latte again sometime. And you better hold me up to that."

 

* * *

 

Matt needed a drink. Luke disliked drinking, and from what he's heard from the rest of their vigilante group Danny's a miserable lightweight, something he's inclined to believe despite Danny's furious insistence otherwise. (He couldn't help but wonder how much of their antics he'd missed while he was playing dead. He also realised how close they had grown in his absence, how much he had missed their company during that time despite knowing the lot of them for such a short span of time.)

So he and Jessica go bar-hopping. For some reason he had never realised she would make such great company under such a circumstance, which probably said a lot about the two of them. The vodka burned going down his throat and he was determined not to go overboard (though he was certain Jessica could hold her weight enough to take care of them in the hopefully unlikely case that happened), but the warmth that settled in the pit of his stomach right after was not an unwelcome feeling and, to be frank, a long time coming. He hadn't realised how much he missed it while he was playing dead.

"I just realised it's our first time doing this," Jessica said, downing her—third? Fourth?—shot from the fourth bar they've hit so far. "Which is strange. Feels like I've been putting up with the lot of you forever." Her tongue was sharp as always but it didn't conceal the genuine feelings underneath it, something foreign from her, to which Matt appreciated wordlessly.

"Sorry about that," he replied and she scoffed, lightly elbowing his side. He laughed, and she hid her own with a rather poor scowl.

"You should be." A pause as she downed yet another shot. "Hey, uh, sorry for slapping the shit out of you when you came to see me again."

Ah, yes. The first person of their vigilante bunch he revealed his still-alive-ness to was Jessica—he couldn't determine where Luke is, so she was the next level-headed person out of the four of them he could find (sorry, Danny). He had entered her reopened office, and the woman, drowning in liquor at her desk as always, had taken him in for a solid minute of dead silence before walking up to him and delivering him a hard smack across the cheek, sending (a still recovering from mortal injuries, mind you) Matt hurtling onto the floor—he was almost convinced he's die  _this_ time. And then she chewed him out while he was still reeling. The lawyer clearly had an amazing sense of judgement. "I deserved it," he simply returned.

"No—no you didn't. Don't shut me down when I'm being heartfelt for once." He heard the bartender place another couple of shots in front of them, likely by Jessica's request. "Listen, you—you're an idiot."

"I'm well aware of that."

"Shut up. I'm serious. You don't know how torn up Danny was. Slipping him booze to shut him up was the worst thing I could've done." He regarded her incredulously. "I know. Shit move. But he felt responsible. Hell, we all did. But he's the one going around  _protecting your city_ and all of that crap, making Luke and I pick up after him." She let out a heavy sigh.

"Protecting my city?" It wasn't new to him—he had found out that Daredevil's name had still been stagnant in the city's air during his absence—but it didn't quite occur to him that the younger man had taken Matt's last words to him to his heart so seriously to do such a thing until then.

"Protecting your city," Jessica repeated. "Imagine that. The biggest dumbass out of all of us did that."

He downed a shot. "It wasn't his responsibility to."

"No shit it wasn't. Not that anyone telling him that stopped him. He takes up from you well though. Nothing stopped you from playing fucking martyr all of the time either." Ouch. " _All_ of us felt like shit, you know. Not trying to guilt-trip you or anything. Okay, I totally am. But that's how it was. You better know that."

"I do." Though it never did truly occur or settle onto him until now. And he did feel guilty over it, despite what she said and what he knew to be fact. "I'm sorry."

"For fuck's sake, stop apologising." She downed yet another glass (how many has she had by now? Is that amount even sustainable?). "It's on all of us. We should've known. I mean, I'm a fucking P.I., I should've realised you would've pulled some shit like that." Even with the buzz dulling his super-senses he could feel the guilt emanating from her. "What I want to say it—" She paused for a moment, struggling to articulate her feelings. "What I want to say is. The stuff you were saying before we wrecked Midland. I know it's hard to believe coming out of miss hard-ass over here, but I felt the same way, too. I still do."

Jessica's heartfelt was still rather foreign towards him, and perhaps this was the only length it'd reach, but he didn't know how to express his gratitude for it. He settled with a "thank you", hoping his earnestness got across amidst his drunkenness. 

"Is that it? You should be flattered." That was as much of an acknowledgement as he would get from her. Jessica slammed her shot-glass back onto the counter hard. "I'm sick of this place. Let's go back to your fancy, affordable apartment."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is there a sleepover I'm not invited to?"

 

 

 

"Yeah, sorry. We're kicking you out for the night." The other retorted snidely. "We're rooming with you for awhile.  _By Claire's request._ So we can make sure you don't go and get yourself killed again. Trust me, I'd have no part in this if I had a choice."

 _You do,_ he thought, but decided not to poke at her goodwill. He was thankful for it, anyhow.

The drinks were Jessica's treat and the both of them stumbled back to his apartment tripping over each other's feet (she had to support him; she could hold her weight far better than he could, and as he's come to find out even with his heightened senses he'd be reduced to a bumbling mess when he got himself absolutely hammered that way—even with Foggy he had never drank to such lengths. Which was a bit unnerving, but he enjoyed the fuzzy feeling and worry-less state of mind it put him in). Beyond the overwhelming stench of liquor emanating from the both of them, he detected the slightest hint of lavender, Jessica's own unique marking. It was comforting—her presence and company was comforting. He lacked the coherence to convey it to her, but he hoped his feelings got through to her somehow, through their mutual drunken haze as they poked fun at themselves and everything around them while stumbling through Hell's Kitchen.

"To Matthew Murdock coming back to life!" Jessica yelled in the middle of the street, no doubt attracting attention amidst the cars driving past them and the people walking by them, but Matt found himself not caring any less, laughing as he stumbled against her.

"To coming back to life," he repeated, yet a part deep within him nagged otherwise.

 

 

* * *

 

The two had been reduced to snickering messes by the time they made it back to his place (in their drunken states it took absolutely forever). The other half of their team were crouched on the floor playing cards when they made an unceremonious entry back into his apartment. "Hey guys, we're playing Uno," Danny said excitedly. "You guys stink," he added, not as excitedly.

"Sorry, baby boo," Jessica slurred. "Shouldn't be drunk in front of the kid. I forget sometimes."

Luke sounded disgusted. "You're always drunk in front of us. And please don't ever call anyone baby boo again."

Danny sounded offended. "I'm not a kid."

"Don't worry, I'm as disgusted as you are. And Danny, yes. Yes you are. You are the definition of a man-child." Matt lost his composure at that; even Luke couldn't hold back a chuckle. Danny sounded very frustrated, not making a particular good case for himself. Matt wasn't sure when was the last time he ever laughed like that; probably back with Foggy and Karen at Josie's. And while the thought sobered him up slightly, he found it to be something he could try to get used to again. It was definitely the drinks that loosened him up in such an indignant way, he justified to himself.

"You guys wanna join in? We dug up a braille deck," Luke offered.

Matt couldn't refuse. It was definitely the drinks.

 

 

* * *

 

Matt woke up on the floor with throbbing pain radiating through his head. The horrid hangover he sported significantly dulled his senses, but he was very aware of the fact that he was dressed only in his boxers. He couldn’t remember how he came to be that way, nor did he think he cared to. Oh, it was _definitely_ the drinks.

At least he didn’t have any nightmares this time around, which was a reprieve to him. And despite his better judgement he wouldn’t mind another night like that again, what with an excessive amount of drinks and games of Uno and who knows what else he couldn’t remember that led him to wake up on the cold floor of his living room in nothing but his boxers (okay, maybe excluding that last part). Whatever had transpired in the night had been a hell of a time, and he found the lot of them to be good company. He couldn’t see himself getting used to their constant presences, though. He wondered how long they would be making themselves home in his place.

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder and he instinctively tried to defend himself despite his post-drunken stupor. The other person immediately withdrew their hand. “Whoa, it’s okay. It’s just me,” the person said, and he calmed significantly when he recognised the person to be Danny. He let out a sigh.

“Oh—sorry. I was just, uh—yeah.”

“It’s fine. Uh, Jess and Luke are out. You wouldn’t wake up so I stuck around.”

“Ah.” So this really isn’t just a one-time thing after all.

“Claire’s orders,” Danny stated in a light tone, as if reading his thoughts. “If it makes any difference, I’m more than willing.”

“Ah.” Well, he appreciated it somewhat. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

“Ah.” Maybe _this_ would just end up being a one-time thing after all.

Matt moaned involuntarily as he tried to get himself up. The throbbing in his head was like none other. “You’re still hung over,” Danny quickly deduced. “Here.” The younger man pressed a few fingers against Matt’s temple. He felt a surge of warmth, comfortingly so; Danny was using his powers. Sure enough the pain and fogginess in his head cleared in an instant, and he became acutely aware of the sensations around him, almost overwhelmingly so for a moment—the soothing scent of Danny’s chi; the scent of lemon and herbs, his shampoo Danny must’ve helped himself with; the scent of... _cinnamon,_ Danny’s own scent.

Then he heard the uneasy rhythm of Danny’s heart; the hesitant way his throat moved as he swallowed. _Of course_. The other man had every right to be feeling the way he did. When they were...  _reintroduced,_ he thought that Matt had been brought back to life by the Hand (to be fair, they all did—hell, even Matt had suspected it initially, and he would’ve ended his life as well if he were; but he found he wasn’t the way Elektra or the rest of the Hand were, didn’t function or move or feel the way they had, so he had ruled that out—but only Danny had been so outright in accusing him of being their pawn, sworn enemy of the Hand and all that) and didn’t hesitate in trying to take him down; it took a lot of convincing for Danny to come through. The younger man was very apologetic after, no matter how much Matt insisted his actions were justified and how he would do the same in his place; Matt had thought that was the end of it, but the tension between them resurfaced rather uncomfortably when they were alone together, he was coming to realise.

Matt gave him his thanks and left to wash up. His head was even clearer after the shower; he could smell the scent of dumplings from outside, and his stomach growled very approvingly. He hadn’t had a proper dinner beyond an undetermined-but-surely-too-many amount of drinks with Jessica the night before, he realised. He dressed himself in a hopefully decent matching pair of shirt and shorts and returned to the living room. “I ordered Chinese,” Danny welcomed him happily, and sure enough the dining table emitted overpowering smells screaming Chinese, a little (a lot) too much even, likely to compensate for Danny’s monstrous appetite; but upon dining it doesn’t take long for them to realise it’s far too much even so and Matt predicted that him and his new housemates would be having Chinese for a couple more days.

They washed the dishes together, Danny’s heartbeat erratic and his demeanour unlike himself—Matt didn’t need his heightened senses to detect how tense the other man was. “Is there something you want to talk about?” Matt asked, and Danny’s heart stuttered.

“I—” he hesitated. Matt waited patiently. It took awhile for Danny to pick up where he left off, the silence between them punctuated by the clinking of plates and constant running of tapwater. “I’ve been protecting the city— _your city,_ like you asked. Jess and Luke too, of course. As far as everyone knows the Daredevil’s still alive and protecting his city.” Matt picked up a hint of pride in his voice. He smiled.

“So I’ve heard. Thank you for protecting _our_ city—" Danny notably perked up at this “—I’m proud. I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

“I’m... relieved to hear that,” The younger man breathed out. The weigh in his heart lifted, but a hint of it remained. That troubled Matt. He wiped his hand down and gave Danny a pat on his shoulder, smiling at him reassuringly. He hoped that Danny smiled back.

Danny was in no hurry to leave after they were done clearing the dishes. The mess from the night prior had already been cleaned up by a very helpful Danny, the younger man was thoughtful enough to note; Matt hoped nothing unsightly— _ha—_ was part of it. Beyond that, his apartment had been very clean since his return—his belongings neatly packed where they should be. He suspected that some acquaintances had done so after his supposed death—most likely Foggy and Karen. He didn’t like thinking about it, the possibility of them having burst into tears as they did went through his belongings. In fact, he dreaded having to reintroduce himself to them again after his long absence and the inevitable conflict he’d cause. Surely he was better off dead to them.  

The two were seated on his couch, Danny checking out the channels of Matt’s new television (sponsored by Mr Rand, he hoped), though it was moreso Danny mindlessly flipping through the channels and Matt listening to an amalgamation of noises, the guilt and unease weighing down the younger man overpowering it all, becoming too uncomfortable for Matt to ignore.

“What’s bothering you?” He asked, and Danny took in a sharp breath.

“It’s—It’s nothing,” The younger man tried, then realised how futile it was for him to pretend. “I—I want to apologise.”

“What for?”

“I—I should’ve known. That you would’ve—done what you did.”

 _Ah_. _Of course._ “It’s not on you, Danny.”

“I know, but I just—" He stumbled through his words. “Everyone’s been saying that. But I know I could’ve done something. If I knew, if I wasn’t so incompetent all of the time—"

“Danny.” Matt had to interrupt him. “You’re not incompetent.”

“I am! I am, and you know it. Everyone knows it.” He raised his voice in frustration. He took awhile to continue, calming himself with deep breaths. “I’ve been—protecting your city in your wake. It was the least I could do. The only thing I could do. To—make up for what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Matt said softly. “I shouldn’t have put such a big responsibility on your shoulders. I don’t want you doing such a thing out of guilt. And everything that happened—it’s behind us now. If anything, it was on all of us. You, me, Jessica and Luke. All of us, as a team.” _On me, especially,_ he thought to himself nonetheless.

Danny softened as well. He seemed to detect Matt’s own unvoiced guilt. “It wasn’t on you, either.”

“I know.” It would take all of them some time to truly recognise that, however, after all they went through, and their own personal experiences.

“I came to a realisation after you were gone,” Danny spoke hesitantly, as if unsure of himself. Matt listened. “When we were at Midland Circle—I faced Madame Gao. She told me that I had found my family. I didn’t know what she meant at first, but I thought about it and I came to understand it.

“My parents died when I was young. I was separated from everyone I knew, and I didn’t have anyone I could call family in K’un-Lun. When I met Luke—when we all met each other, it felt— _d_ _ifferent_. Those few days we spent together, and the time I’ve spent with Luke and Jess after you—" Danny stopped himself. He took in a shaky breath and continued. “I realised how I felt—happy with all of you. How I felt like I _belonged_ with all of you, how important all of you were to me. That’s _family_.”

Then, to Matt’s surprise, Danny swiftly drew him into a hug. He was dumbstruck for a moment and didn’t react; rather, he was unsure of how to. “I don’t know if it’s the same for the rest of you. But I want it to be. I want it to be, for Luke and Jess, and _you_.”

“I—" His throat closed up. Like Danny—like all of them—he’d been lost for a long time. He’d lost everything close to him more than once, and never quite belonged anywhere after. Matt couldn’t help but wonder if he was allowed this. If he was allowed the sense of belonging his newfound companions gave him, the belonging Danny wanted him to have. Surely it was charity work. Surely something was bound to happen again once he was duped into thinking he finally found people he could open himself up to again.

“You’re all so important to me,” Danny said. “When we thought you—you—I don’t want that to happen ever again. I _can’t_ let that happen ever again.”

And the way Danny’s shoulders began to jerk, his quick breaths and attempts to suppress the sobs wracking his body told Matt that, _yes_ , if Danny deserved to find home in all of their wounded hearts, then surely he could, too.

“It’s okay, Danny,” Matt wrapped his arms around Danny and the younger man lost what little composure he had left, burying his face into Matt’s shoulder and completely dissolving into heavy sobs; Matt held the other man tightly in his arms, and couldn’t help the way his owns breath began to hitch and the way his words came out breathless as well. “I’m here. It’s okay now.” The way he spoke almost sounded as if he were trying to convince himself of that.

Danny squeezed him even tighter, and Matt knew it to be true. He’s here. He’s okay now.

 

* * *

 

Sometime after the two had composed themselves, Danny took his leave after Matt’s insistence for him to do so, having his responsibilities as the head of his own enterprise; despite Danny being able to take out all the time he desired to look out for Matt, Matt felt bad occupying him in such a way.

But being in his apartment on his own made him restless, and pacing around did nothing to dissipate the feeling. So Matt threw on a hoodie as a crude disguise and headed out to clear his head.

Walking alongside the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen unrecognised and being able to take in the city’s atmosphere in such a way was an immense reprieve to him. He had returned to _his_ city, back where he had always belonged, amongst the lively chatter of people around him and the sounds of vehicles bellowing down the street, and he was relieved to find that it really hadn’t changed in spite of his absence. Part of it was Danny operating under his guise, to which he found himself immensely thankful for once more. He caught himself pacing a little too fast at times, bouncing on the soles of his feet even, yearning to just run carelessly through the streets, taking in the whole of the city—Hell’s Kitchen, _home—_ into every fibre of his being.

Strolling through the city so peacefully, Matt felt the most wonderful sense of contentment within him, unknowingly letting his guard down to fully immerse himself in the city atmosphere around him—leading to the rather terrible surprise of hearing a familiar voice call out to him and prompting him to stop dead in his tracks.

_“Matt!”_

Well, _shit_. There was a voice he recognised, yet sent his heart barrelling down into his gut. But there was no point in hiding or making a run for it; he’d have to come back to life, to face everyone all over again eventually. “Karen,” he greeted, turning to face the woman in question. Her hard breaths punctuated the brief silence between them—she had likely rushed towards him after managing to identify who he was from a distance.

“You—You’re alive,” she said.

“I am.”

“You—" Karen’s voice wavered. She held herself together, the way she always did, but he could sense she was very close to falling apart at any second. She hadn’t changed, he found himself thinking, and he was unsure of it being a good thing or a bad thing. He didn’t need his heightened senses to tell him that she was confused and hurt and angry, rightfully so, but it was an immense weight off his chest to sense the genuine feelings of relief underneath it all. “Does anyone else know?”

“Claire, Jess, Danny, Luke. That’s it.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me—wait, you haven’t told _Foggy?”_

He should’ve just lied out of his ass. That was the last name he needed to hear at that moment, the last person he needed to think of. But that was the way Karen was, still placing the two of her ex-colleagues above herself, doing more than he ever did for the two of them.

“Why haven’t you—you know what, it doesn’t matter. We’re going to tell him right now.”

She turned to head off, presumably to Hogarth’s firm where Foggy worked still, but he was quick to step forward and grab her hand, stopping her. “ _No_ , Karen.”

“Are you out of your mind? _Don’t answer that.”_ Matt pursed his lips. “Why haven’t you told him you’re alive yet? Nevermind me—and don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed off about that—but why not _him?_ Your best friend, who spent weeks sobbing over your belongings thinking that you’re dead, who delivered the best eulogy I’ve ever witnessed through tears in your—your _premature funeral._ Why haven’t you told him?”

“I—I need more time, Karen.”

“No, cut the bullshit, Matt!” She yelled at him. “I’m tired of putting up with this every time you—you— _do this!_ You don’t know how much we mourned for you! You don’t know how torn up Foggy was! It was—so hard to watch him so broken. And now you’re back, and you’re hiding like a—a _coward,_ you won’t even tell your friends that, hey, thank god you’re actually still alive, and then you’re going to play martyr again and get yourself killed for real—" Her voice broke again, and she sounded on the brink of tears. He felt entirely guilty knowing that he was the reason for the pain she was feeling, the pain everyone had felt. But—

“Karen. _Please_. I need more time.” There must be a desperation in his voice unlike she’s ever heard, because his words brought her pause. “I know. I know, what I’ve done is inexcusable. I don’t think about any of you before I do things. I hurt myself without thinking but I never realise I’m hurting everyone else, too. And I’m sorry. I truly am. I know there’s only so many times I can say this. But I really am sorry. You don’t have to forgive me. You can—" He choked on his words. “You can turn away and pretend this never happened. Pretend I’m still dead. I’ll never bother you two again. But please, know that I mean it when I say I’m sorry. I really meant everything I said. I care about the both of you even if I never did do enough to show it. And I’ll do anything I can to make up for what I’ve done wrong. So I’m telling all of this to you now. But Foggy—Foggy is—" His words got stuck in his throat and his voice began to break. He took a moment to compose himself.

_Foggy is—different._

“I need time, Karen. Please. I can barely come to terms with this myself. Please let me do this on my own.” He sounded pathetic to himself. He couldn’t imagine how miserable he must’ve sounded to her.

Karen was silent for a moment. Matt couldn’t make out how she felt. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” She finally said, and he felt an insurmountable weight lift off his chest. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve been... really unfair to you, especially after you almost—” She cut herself off, sighing. “And that wasn’t your fault. I just—don’t want you to keep doing this. To keep playing hero.”

“I can’t help it. It’s who I am.” It was an answer she’s heard once before, and not one she liked, but it was the truth laid bare. _He was Daredevil._ “It’s who I’ll always be.”

“It is, isn’t it? And I can’t change that, either.” She let out a forced chuckle. He felt a pang of guilt. “At least - at least stop trying to hold the weight of the world all on your own. I can’t stop you from being who you are, but please take care of yourself. Don’t hurt yourself even more when you’re—being _him_. You have your vigilante gang of friends now, don’t you? You should rely on them.” She squeezed his arm. “Promise me you will.”

He forced a smile. “Yeah. I’ll try.” He had to, for his own sake if not everyone else’s. “How are you?” He asked her in an attempt to soften the tension between them.

“I’m—a lot better, knowing that you’re alive. This sounds stupid, but—I just knew you made it out of there somehow.”

“You’re spot on as always.”

“And I’m sure glad for that,” Karen laughed. Matt managed a small chuckle. “Other than that... the bulletin’s been keeping me busy among other things—the city’s been bustling as always.” Matt acknowledged it silently—he’d heard of various events that had happened during his absence, but nothing concise enough. “Foggy and I have been coping. Your friends have been really supportive. And the Daredevil’s still doing his job, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“That’s good to hear.” He meant it earnestly. There was a swell in his chest knowing that the others had taken their time to look out for Karen and Foggy as well. There was no way he’d be able to repay them for what they’ve done after only being acquainted for such a short amount of time.

“Yeah. It’s been hard, but things are okay. Even better now that you’re back.” Her words sounded genuine, something he was appreciative to hear. He didn’t want to drag the people he cared for down even when he was dead. “How have _you_ been?”

“Well, I’m alive, for one.” Karen scoffed at his words. “I’ve been adjusting well. The others have been helping me, too.”

“That’s good. Listen,” Karen said suddenly, as if she had been mulling over it for awhile during their conversation. “When you’re done, uh—coming back to life. Let’s go to Josie’s again. You, me, Foggy. Like the old days.”

“Like the old days,” Matt repeated, a genuine smile spreading on his lips. He liked the way those words rolled off his tongue. He hadn’t realised how much he truly missed them—not just Foggy and Karen, but _Nelson and Murdock and Page._ “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“It would,” Karen agreed. Then she stepped forward and hugged him tightly. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. He wanted to melt into it. He had missed her so much. He had missed her and Foggy so, _so_ much. He couldn’t possibly mend his wrongs towards the both of them, but he could try to rebuild their relationship from what little they still had. For once, he felt hopeful for the three of them again.

_Was this okay? Was this really okay?_

“I’m so glad you’re back, Matt.”

He extended his arms and held her back, trying to suppress the lump rising in his throat. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

 _Elektra was dying in his arms again._ You let me die, Matthew. _She died in his arms every night. Her bloodied palms left marks on him, ones that’ll never wear off. When it’s not her, it’s the rest of the people he’d let slip through his grasp, dying in his arms over and over again. Elektra, Stick, father. Elektra, Stick, Dad._

 _The screams in Hell’s Kitchen every night. They were all indiscernible, screams he could never stop no matter how much he fought. How much he beat people within an inch of their lives. They came back. They always came back._ You have to kill them, _a voice inside him whispers by his ear, one he vehemently rejected. What was the difference between beating them bloody and disabled and killing them? They all came back._

 _He washed his bruised, bloodied knuckles underneath running water. The blood was stained into his skin. It always came back, no matter how much he washed and washed and_ washed _. It would never wear off his conscience._

 _Midland Circle fell. He awoke, gasping, pinned underneath three familiar bodies._ Danny, Jess, Luke. _They were so cold. They were corpses._

_His fault. All of it was his doing._

Dad. Wake up. Daddy. Daddy.

“Matt. _Matt.”_

He couldn’t answer. His fault. He couldn’t regulate his breathing. His fault. He couldn’t sense anything around him, couldn’t tell who was calling out to him. _His fault._

“Wake up, Matt! It’s just a _nightmare_. Breathe. Everything’s okay now.”

Everything’s okay. _He’s not okay._ “I—I’m—" he tried to manage through laboured breaths, but failed miserably. _His fault._ Danny and Jessica and Luke were— _were alive—_ were staying over, weren’t they? They hovered before him, now, at the foot of his bed, beside him. He couldn’t let them see him this way, he couldn’t. _His fault, his fault, his fault._

Someone held onto him. He panicked, trying to jerk himself away from the grip, before he was immediately overwhelmed by what he could only describe as a soothing energy, and he felt his panic melt away with it, his heartbeat regulating itself and his breaths calming down. He felt immensely exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to fall into a dreamless sleep.

“You’re okay, Matt. You’re okay.” One of the three said to him. He couldn’t tell who. He was too drowsy. But he felt safe, and he believed the words they were telling him. He was okay. _He was okay._

His consciousness plunged into a long, empty darkness.

 

* * *

 

Luke invited Matt to spend the next day with him. He agreed to, not that he had much of a choice to begin with, what with being dead to the rest of the world and restricted to his apartment otherwise. It would help to get his mind off of certain lingering grievances, anyhow.

Matt found out that Luke spent most of his down time helping various folk in Harlem. From simple matters as helping the elderly with their groceries or helping kids keep score in their ballgame to more complicated matters as bailing reckless teens from unjust accusations of the law. The lawyer was already privy to what the man did for his community, but he hadn’t quite realised the scale Luke was heralded as a local hero until then. Luke respectably never asked for anything in return, but everyone always had little tokens of appreciation to give him in return—from a simple smile and _thank you_ to freshly baked goods.

Matt merely trailed behind him during this time, trying to be as inconspicuous as his hooded disguise allowed him to be while helping others along with the larger man, though Luke introducing him as a friend was usually enough for most people to raise their suspicions off him, something Matt was thankful for. To think that their first interaction reeked with utter distrust towards each other (no thanks to Matt especially).

“You had a nightmare last night,” Luke brought up casually, as if a typical conversation piece, lifting various fallen debris off the road from a previous awry incident while Matt sat aside and pretended to watch. His words quickly snapped Matt out of his stupor.

“Excuse me?”

“You had a nightmare last night,” Luke repeated himself, sounding amused had Matt not known any better. “Remember?”

Matt could barely recall it. He wasn’t surprised; nightmares were more than a common occurrence by then, and he was rather ashamed to affirm it now, knowing that they had all been witness to such an embarrassing, _vulnerable_ display. “I did.”

Luke settled himself on the curb beside Matt. His heartbeat was the most stable among all four of them; it was calming to listen to, a steady, infallible rhythm. _Sandalwood,_ he determined the scent beside him. Luke really was a pillar of strength and stability out of all of them. It calmed Matt immensely just by being next to him. He had no doubt that Luke did an amount to keep the remaining three of them together after what had transpired to him. For someone who vehemently denied the reality of the supernatural threat they faced together, he was the one who took Matt's revival the most level-headed, welcoming him back the way he was with an unexpected hug, one Matt had never realised he longed for.

“You gave us all a scare there. Danny had to use his _chi_ to calm you down.” As he said that, Matt began to piece back together events of the previous night. He figured that was the case; the younger man’s mystic powers really worked wonders. “Fell back asleep like a rock after that. Thankfully didn’t hear a peep out of you till next morning.”

“Yeah, well. Sorry about that,” Matt sighed. That _was_ something that happened, and there was no use denying it. They had all seen it, even if Luke was the only one not walking on eggshells around him about it. Though he was certain he wasn’t the only one out of all of them that experienced harrowing nightmares on the regular.

“So you wanna talk about it?”

For some reason his mind decided to bring back one of their earliest encounters again. _I don't trust you,_ Luke had firmly voiced, and Matt had mirrored his opinion. Then they took down the Hand together, Matt had nearly died for their ragtag team... it was surely safe to say that things between them had changed for the better. Most importantly he _trusted_ Luke, now—he would trust the other man with his city, his _life,_ even. He trusted all of them. And it was only fair for him to take up the other man's offer, to truly repay this trust by confiding in them.

"I've had this recurring dream," Matt began, and Luke listened. "Rather, a recurring _fear_. I—I keep failing to save everyone. To save the city, the people closest to me." _To save you three._ "It just keeps repeating. It never stops. _I_ never stop." He instinctively rubbed his knuckles. They were rough and calloused. "My father, Stick, Elektra—they're gone. The rest of you aren't, and I'm scared of the day it comes. I'm scared of losing everyone else, of not being able to stop losing everyone else." Danny, Jess, Luke, Karen. Foggy. "But I don't know what to do."

The two sat in silence for a moment before Luke clasped a hand over Matt's uneasy ones, catching him by surprise.

"I've lost people I love, too," Luke said in a soft voice. "We all have. Any loss is one too many. People like us, we're always putting it on our shoulders. What we have, our _powers—"_ Matt withheld a scoff at that "—it's not what we ever asked for, but it should've helped us protect them." There was truth to what he said, of course. They had all experienced loss, ones they were painfully helpless towards, ones they could do nothing but continue to blame themselves for and try to redeem vicariously. "Thing is, it's happened. There isn't anything we can do about it, now. But we can make a difference in the future. It's not gonna be a walk in the park. It's not gonna get any easier. But we just have to learn to take it. And we honour them. We make sure we carry on what they wanted from us, do what we can with what we still have. We move forward, always _._ "

Matt couldn't miss the way Luke's heart skipped just the slightest, the way his breath stuttered just the barest upon uttering those words. There was a moment of silence before Luke took a deep breath, squeezing Matt's hands before letting go. There was a lingering warmth on them, one Matt didn't want to fade.

“You know," Luke began, catching Matt's attention again, "we were gonna head our own ways after you left. Danny was the one who wanted to keep it going. He wanted to keep your _spirit_ going, whack-job that he is. The rest of us—Jess and I thought there wasn’t a point. But I knew we had to do it together, or it wouldn’t have worked out. And you know—doing this, defending the city as a team, it brought us together for good again. It’s been good for all of us."

Matt nodded. He could picture it. He was thankful for how their team managed to seek solace through each other during his absence. _Team._ The word had a nice ring to it. Uncharacteristic to who he used to be, he found himself smiling at the thought.

"And now that you’re back, it’s nothing but uphill from here." Luke stood up, pulling Matt onto his feet by his arm and giving him a generous pat on the back. “It’s good to have you back.”

Matt smiled. “It’s good to be back,” he said, and found himself beginning to earnestly mean it.

 

* * *

 

Towards the evening the two dropped by a small clinic Claire was working in. It was a small centre for the disprivileged people in the neighbourhood. It was mostly non-profit, but the regular generous donations Rand Enterprises made towards the small shelter made it enough to sustain the both of them and plenty others, which was a pleasant surprise for Matt to hear. Claire was happy to see the two of them, exchanging a quick kiss with Luke before trading hugs with Matt.

“So listen. I have a suggestion,” Claire said after an amount of small talk, garnering Matt’s attention. “You’re pretty empty handed right now. I’m sure you’ve seen how some people live around here after following Luke around. How about setting up a small law office to help these people? Teens that are wrongly convicted, minor disputes, domestic abuse cases—I’m sure all of it’s up your alley. And we'll get the very generous _Mr Rand_ to fund it, of course. What do you think?”

Matt thought for a moment, then smiled, nodding. It sounded good to him.

 

* * *

 

A couple of weeks into running his little law firm Matt could safely say that he had, for the most part, gotten back into the pace of his old life. He hadn't realised that _law_ was an aspect of his life he missed so dearly; defending innocent people in a more _conventional_ way, all the while being able to ask for nothing in return; it was something he had to thank Claire (and Danny's generosity) for being able to do.

But walking through the city day to day, taking in all of the bustling life and lively atmosphere he was growing accustomed to once more, he couldn't suppress the growing ache inside of him to do _more._ He was ready to go back to his calling, to being the Devil of Hell's Kitchen again.

He picked a night and wrapped a scarf around the top half of his face as a crude disguise (whether it was Jessica's or not would remain up for speculation; he had simply grabbed one lying around his household and it wasn't his fault if his super-powered housemates were complete slobs) and made his way towards a certain odd man's quarters; he did, after all, require a new suit after his incident. Matt briefly wondered if the man in question was still around; it had been quite some time, and beyond their odd give-and-take they struck up they had nothing tying their relationship together, and he wondered if the man had simply assumed he retired or connected two-and two and determined he had done so prematurely.

The lawyer took care to sneak into the man's workshop undetected; even from the distance Matt felt a peculiar sense of relief the way he continued to tinker meticulously with various equipment far beyond his knowledge. After all it was always his job to _create_ and the Daredevil's to simply _execute._ He knew the other man was alerted to his presence long before he had made it obvious; right as Matt approached him he grabbed something by his side and swung it harshly, to which Matt narrowly avoided (the man's combat abilities had always been commendable) and quickly apprehended the other man (perhaps he should've approached him more sensibly). "Easy. It's me," he said, and he could sense the way the other man quickly ceased his struggled as he evaluated the sight in front of him.

"I—It's you," Melvin voiced his disbelief, but Matt couldn't miss the lilt in his tone. "I thought you died."

"Yeah, me too," Matt replied, and Melvin let out a bout of laughter, unexpectedly drawing him into a awkward but sincere hug which left Matt in a slight daze. "How are you and Betsy?" He asked after snapping out of it.

"Never better—thanks to you of course. You need a suit again don't you?" He supposed it was obvious enough, given the way Matt had approached him. "I'll do it, but mind if I ask you why?"

Matt frowned. "Why?"

"Well, you—" the man hesitated just the slightest moment, and Matt immediately figured out what he was alluding to. "You're always getting yourself beat to death protecting us, and I definitely owe ya for that, but why keep doing it?"

"Evil never rests, Melvin," Matt replied without a moment's hesitation, "and as long as I stand I'll keep fighting it. I wouldn't rather give up my life any other way."

Melvin made an affirmative noise—he didn't completely understand, but wouldn't question it further. "It'll take awhile," Melvin trudged towards his work station, "but I can get it done. Better than before, even. Just gimme some time."

"Of course. Take all the time you need," Matt couldn't miss the way Melvin perked up.

"It'll be better than before, just you wait. Come by soon." Matt nodded, beginning to leave, and Melvin shouted back at him. "Come by anytime, y'hear?"

Matt couldn't help but smile in return. "I'll be more than glad to."

 

* * *

 

Matt stepped out of Melvin's workshop, pausing as he took in the chilly nighttime city air around him. His breaths dissipated in small, misty clouds.

So this was it. This was Daredevil's comeback. He wondered how long he had been waiting to do this again. _Far too long_ would be his answer. But as far as he knew he had settled everything he needed to, and he was ready to truly come alive again.

—Well, there was one last thing he needed to do. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number.

"Karen? I need you to do me a favour."

 

* * *

 

It was a very long time coming. The anxiety he felt was like none other.

Karen had helped them come to an arrangement to meet in his apartment. It’d been a long time since Matt had ever stepped foot in there. He wondered if he’d made any changes to it, not that he’d be able to appreciate it aesthetically. He caught himself in his line of thought and chuckled to himself. What a simple line of thought. If only anything in his life, anything between them was so simple.

It didn’t take long for Matt to be standing in front of his door, knuckles hovering in front of it. He forced his hesitation back down his gut. He hadn't come all this way just to back out of this. It was now or never. He had to do this.

He knocked tentatively. Once, twice.

“The door’s unlocked,” the voice from inside called out, and a spike of anxiety shot through his chest. He swallowed, moving to open the door handle, then pausing, his hand hovering, trembling furiously above it. What was Matt supposed to do once he faced _him_? He could still turn back now. He didn’t need to do this. Matt could just disappear from his life forever. He didn’t need to torment his best friend more than he already had—

The door swung open. Matt recoiled, taken completely by surprise. Foggy stood in front of him, disbelief apparent in his expression.

“Matt,” he spoke, voice breaking, before he lunged forward and drew Matt into a tight hug, as if to convince himself that Matt was truly here and alive, as if Matt would vanish the moment he let go. Matt tried to speak, but his words got caught in his throat; he couldn’t stop the tears that began to form in his eyes, the sobs building up in his chest.

So he simply wrapped his hands around Foggy in return, sobbing into Foggy’s shoulder as his best friend did the same.

And just like that, everything was okay again.

 

* * *

 

Some time into his hectic revival the presence of the three of them had just become... _normal._

Matt would wake up to the sound of his stove sizzling, the crisp smell of eggs and bacon becoming a strange normalcy - Luke always awoke earlier than all of them, taking up the courtesy of making breakfast for the four of them. On the days he went home to spend the night with Claire, he would still somehow make his way to Matt's apartment before any of them awoke. Danny was next—the youngest of them all always joining in with a big yawn, half-awake and stumbling over strewn clothing or just plain furniture, as if he was the blind one among them. Jessica was always the last to wake up—Matt didn't fail to notice the way she grew increasingly sober—perhaps the most uncanny occurrence of it all—and increasingly charismatic as the days passed, her snide chatter eliciting laughter and banter first thing in the morning, waking them all up for good before they headed their own ways for the day.

It was... typical. It was  _strange._

Matt had thought he was still waiting for the three of them to go home, having helped him readjust to life and more—through numerous grievances, being nothing but frank and patient towards him, doing things for him that he would never be able to fully express his gratitude for. But the longer time passed, the more _normal_ it became, the less likely it seemed that they would go. He was so used to solitude that he couldn't help feeling out of place, that he couldn't allow himself to settle into the company he held so dearly to his heart after suddenly becoming hyper-aware of it.

"Is this—is this permanent, now?" He couldn't help asking one day, daring to threaten the normalcy between them, and immediately felt all three of their gazes on him.

"Are you suggesting we break up?" Danny asked, sounding not unlike a wounded puppy, and Matt had to stop himself from cracking a laugh out of plain disbelief.

"No—I wasn't suggesting that. I meant—this," he gestured vaguely towards his occupied homestead. "Whatever it is we're doing. Is this just how things are now?"

"If you want to kick us out just say so," Jessica snorted.

"No, I—far from it. It's," Matt paused for a moment, trying to be eloquent. "It's nice, actually." And it really was just that— _nice_.

"Then that's settled," Luke said simply, and it was.

 

* * *

 

The final part of coming back to life was becoming the Devil of Hell's Kitchen again.

He never thought it possible for Melvin to outdo himself once more, but the man always beat the odds. He stretched in his new suit, marveling in its comfort and advanced durability Melvin had boasted which retained the traits that gave him his namesake. He had never felt any better donning his suit, reclaiming his mantle of Daredevil once more.

He crouched on the rooftop, sensing the lingering _chi_ Danny had left behind during his own reign as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. It was comforting, in a sense, to know that his newfound companions had his back during his absence; but he was admittedly glad to relieve the younger man of his previous duties, returning to the roots he had left behind what seemed an eternity ago. This really was his favourite part of being who he was—he could oversee the entire city from his vantage point, listening to and feeling the life emanating from every corner of the city, washing over him and resonating through all of his senses. It truly made him feel alive.

Lumbering footsteps echoed and approached him. The odd gait was one to raise alarms in the past, but now it had him relax his tense shoulders. He detected a slow, stuttering heartbeat, and the smell of gunpowder and coffee permanently overpowering his visitor's natural scent. Still, he wasn't expecting _company_ , much less from—

"Prowling again, Red?"

He couldn't suppress a smile upon hearing that gruff and mocking tone. Despite everything between them it really had been too long since he'd last been in the man's presence, especially after what he did for Matt in their last meeting. He cocked his head towards the voice's direction. "Why I've always been around, Frank."

"Oh, have you? Last I saw you you didn't go around protecting your city punching people with a glowing fist."

Leave it to Frank to be as perceptive as he is. "You caught me. I've been—on a break."

"On a break," the former marine echoed but chose not to press further, much to Matt's internal relief. He didn't believe the man hadn't caught wind of the assumed death after Midland Circle's collapse. He wondered if Frank had mourned him the way everyone else did. Whether he had mourned Matthew Murdock, his rather useless attorney. Whether he had mourned Daredevil, the vigilante who thwarted his skewed pursuit for justice at every turn. Or whether he had mourned both parts of him as something more. Whatever it was, there was a peculiar sense of normalcy in speaking to him like this, not as sworn enemies but simple acquaintances, something first born out of their unspoken alliance during his first major confrontation with the Hand, the night Elektra died in his arms. Not going after each others' throats, for once. It was something he'd get used to would it not be a foolish thing to do. "Coulda had me take over for you."

"I'll take a hard pass on that." Frank chuckled in response, appreciating his humour.

"I'm about to take a lil' vacation myself," he heard the former marine scratch the back of his head through his hoodie. "Figured I'd say goodbye, after all we've been through." _I'm glad to catch you alive before I left,_ his implication didn't go unheard.

"I'm honoured." He'd long caught wind of the Punisher's resurgence of supposed terrorism which came and went during his absence. He figured Frank would have been long gone, never expecting him to seek him out after somehow hearing of his return (Karen's doing, perhaps), though he didn't doubt his ability to sneak under the detection of law enforcement easily like this.

"Your friends are here. See you when I see you, Red."

 _Friends?_ "See you around, Frank." He heard the other man's footsteps draw further and further away, and it was as if Frank had been an apparition Matt conjured in his head to gain some form of closure from him. Not long after he detected a few more sets of footsteps and heartbeats, ones he were familiarised with and found safety in.

"Hey, hornhead!" Jessica singsonged as she, Danny and Luke approached him. "Never thought I'd missed that kinky suit of yours."

His smile betrayed the disdain he felt at her words. "What—what are you three doing here?"

"You didn't think you were gonna do this on your own again, were you?" Luke asked, his smile apparent in his tone. "We're a _team_ now, we stick together."

"You three—"

He thought of when he spoke to Melvin to request a new suit from him. He had told the man despite what had happened in Midland Circle, he wouldn't have given up his life any other way. But Midland was when he had still believed himself to be alone, deep down. Things were... so much more different now. He _wasn't alone—_ and as willing as he would always be to, there was no reason to give up his life so simply, now; at the very least, no need to defend his— _their_ city alone, to give up on his life alone. No need to _live alone._

That's right, because he's not alone, now, even beyond his team. He didn't have to live on his own.

"You're right," Matt finally answered, and he felt his team perk up simultaneously. "We're a team now. We stick together." The others cheered in response, their enthusiasm infectious but welcome.

A distant scream, down West 42nd street. He felt Danny shift his attention towards the sound as well. "Hear that?" he asked, and Danny made an affirmative noise.

"First mission as a team, huh?" Jessica noted casually, and Matt couldn't help his smile. He regarded Danny, Jessica and Luke; this would be their first mission together—the first of many more to come as a team, as the _defenders_ of New York City.

"Let's head out." 


End file.
